All that we were
by VervainAndRoses
Summary: <html><head></head>They played in a run down, crumbling house, and called it their kingdom. AU</html>
1. Chapter 1

It was like this ever since they cared to remember. Mary and Francis, the forest and the house. It was not theirhouse (although the children thought differently). And they argued over who had found it first, never mind whoever had built it in the first place, since they had left and left the old wooden cabin to be swallowed up by the forest around it.

Francis stumbled upon it when he ran through the woods after one of his brothers wouldn't stop crying. Mary found it one afternoon when she wandered farther than usual into the woods, on one of those days her mom came home from work smelling funny and with a bad mood.

He was the oldest of five children from a marriage that was crumbling apart. Francis knew that, and wished more than anything that it wasn't true. Even when he was friends with Bash, his half-brother, because his father loved another lady even while married to his mom. It was complicated some days; and others it wasn't. Bash was his brother –as much as little Charles- and that was that. But that didn't mean sometimes, when the yelling got too loud and his baby brother wouldn't stop crying, he wanted to run away.

Her father died a mere week after she was born. Mary might have been six, but she had always thought her momma blamed her, somehow. That she lived while her dad died. And maybe it washer fault her momma drank so much and went out all the time to those noisy grown-up places and left her alone at home. Mary might have been six, but she didn't feel that young most of the time.

They lived in a quiet street in a quiet town, and the forest that was their backyard was the quietest place of all, so they ran there. Met there one day. A couple of kids who didn't quite feel like it. On that house. The house was important (or so they thought, but that comes later).

It was hardly a house, to be honest. It had what could pass off as a porch on the rotting wood at the front. Inside, it was just one big room with a table and a set of mismatched plastic chairs. A place for hunters to wait out the night or the wild pigs, or run away from their wives to smoke a cigar between friends.

There was a chimney falling apart on the side, and on top of it a rusted metal box full of bullets. (Mary and Francis played with those once as if they were the marbles neither had.) Moth-eaten curtains billowed in the breeze. The only sound were the crickets and the bugs, and the occasional grunt of the old wooden board who had seen better days under their feet. It was oddly beautiful.

They were almost six when they met.

They ran into each other on their race to get there. (Literally ran, they both ended up on the floor). Then proceeded to discover that they lived in the same street but had never met, would go to the same school later that year, and the trinkets and otherwise that got moved or disappear from the house were not, in fact, the work of ghosts or the supernatural- but rather that they both had been sharing that piece of architecture for about 3 weeks before running into each other. They –unlike most six year olds- decided to share. After all, they had already been doing that without knowing.

They swore each other to secrecy, and Mary begrudgingly slapped her spit hand on his as the oath he insisted on. She wiped the saliva on her dress with a smile, less because of the rudimentary way the boy had decided to test her loyalty, and more because she had just made her first friend.

They ended up meeting there a couple of times a week, to play tag or hide-and-seek- and then almost every day, playing and talking about almost anything. Her mom let her play on the woods as long as she was back before it was late, and so did his mother. Not much happened on that town that would warrant a closer watch.

He didn't take Elizabeth with him, much to her dismay. Because the woods were not a place for 5 year olds, and he was pretty much 6 and the oldest, so he knew best. He didn't know exactly why he told her not to come, but on the second day, after she stopped crying about it and decided to stay home playing house with Claude, he was glad.

He loved his sister, but he liked it better having the house to himself, (even if he shared it with Mary). He fleetingly thought that maybe what he liked was having Maryall to himself. If he brought along his sisters they would probably end up playing dolls and he'd be left out. Mary didn't have any brothers or sisters to play with, so he felt special for the first time, after living in a house with so many children.

So the children ran through the forest every day, met at that old dilapidated cabin to play and talk, and that's how it began.

.

It changed a little when they entered school.

Kindergarten was a whole new world for the both of them, and while Mary quickly found friends in four other girls and they became a tight knit group, Francis spoke to everyone, and was friends with everyone.

It also didn't hurt that he had a brother in 2nd grade (which was a lotolder) and instead of hushing him away, the older boy, Bash, invited him to play with his friends in the playground.

So they didn't talk much at school. They would occasionally exchange a glance during class and smile and look away, as if they were sharing a secret-which they were.

They might have had other friends in school now, but still no one but them came to the house-or knew it even existed. Not even Bash. (Who knew something was up but could never dig it out of Francis)

They didn't really hung out at school, but when everyone ran home, they ran together to the forest. The minute their backpacks fell on the floor of each of their houses, they kicked off their shoes and took off running, over the same path already ran through so many times before, to the old clear in the woods and their house.

They'd laugh over who'd beaten who that time, and then jumped over puddles, and chased each other with mud-stained hands.

It was their place.

Mary had her friends, and Francis had his friends and his brother. But in the woods, they had each other and their secret house. The old screen falling off the door, the door hanging of the hinges. Their own little castle of freedom and decay, where they were the King and Queen.

The years went by.

.

They were good friends. Best friends-no matter what most of their 5th grade class wanted to imply. They'd been friends forever. And then her friends and his friends started to hang out, and soon enough they all filled two entire cafeteria tables pushed together, and everything was fun and laughter.

They didn't mess themselves up as much as they did when they were younger. Every once in a while they'd run back home in the rain, holding hands so as not to get lost, even if they knew that forest like the back of their hands. But they wouldn't play in the mud anymore, or jump into the swamps, because her hair was too long and it was a pain to wash it. And he couldn't get his jacket dirty because it was a present from Bash and it was real leather.

But either way, they kept coming back to their house, not to play as much anymore, but to talk. He told her all about his parents and the tug of war that was their marriage. She knew all his brothers and sisters and they adored her. She had been friends with Elizabeth for a year or two now.

"I still like you better, you know?" She'd told him, one too warm afternoon, when they were cooling their legs in a pool of fresh water the rains had formed.

"Huh?" He'd mumbled, his eyes firmly planted on the rock he kept turning in his arms, as if he couldn't care less what she was saying. But he did, a whole lot.

"I like you better than Liz, just don't tell her." Mary had whispered, touching his hand faintly, and then moving it away-because it felt weird now. Even if they'd been friends for years and played tag countless times. It felt different. She began to see him not as the lanky, long-legged boy with the mess of blond curls that had made her shake his spat-on hand and chased her around since they were little, but as truly her best friend, probably the only one who understood her, and he was a boy. A boy with gorgeous blue eyes that Mary felt odd she would only notice now. He skipped the rock across the surface of the water.

They stood up and walked around for a bit, quietly, picking and eating wild berries that stained their teeth and fingertips red. It was near dark when they returned to the edge of the forest, and had to drift apart to go back to each of their houses-but instead of saying the usual "night!" and running home, Francis pulled her close when she was distracted and planted a kiss on her cheek, staining it red.

"What did you do that for?!" She asked him, wide eyed. Her cheek tingling where he'd been.

"I don't know," he answered, looking down, his hand pulling at his hair and his cheeks going as red as his lips were. "I...I like you better than anyone." He said, fast; they stared at each other for a beat and then ran home even faster, not yet ready to face whatever it was they had to. There was all the time in the world.

There was a quiet humming in the air that summer that told them things were about to change. Maybe because they were growing up, and soon they'd be in middle school and it wouldn't be cool to go to their secret house anymore. Or because she had secretly started to stare at him longer, trying to gauge exactly what color where his eyes- as if it mattered. And maybe he'd thought she was different from every other girl once.

Things were definitely changing, but they didn't know just how much.

.

It was one lazy Sunday after church when it happened. Everything went as usual that day, they attended mass with their best clothes, an uncomfortable white dress for her and itchy pants for him. They turned on their pews to mouth words at each other when his parents and her mom were not looking. All the children played tag outside later (careful not to get their clothes dirty), while the grown-ups talked.

And afterwards, Mary went back to Francis' house, still in her lacy white dress- to see Henry, Francis' youngest brother who was just a few weeks old. The little baby boy had hair even fairer than Francis, and oddly enough it's one of the things she remembers the most about that day. The light on the fine baby hair, her mom's shadow on the door, and the look in Francis' eyes-as if he knew something was not right.

Her mom came through the door, an odd smile on her face, and asked her to come home-something that was not the usual for them. Mary was sat down in their old couch and told that the nice man that had been coming over the past couple of months (Mary had hardly noticed him-or tried not to) was going to be her step-daddy now. That's the word her momma used. And then told her to pack because they were moving out of that hellhole of a town once and for all. She didn't cry then. She ran.

Francis was sitting on the steps of the backdoor once she came out running, and he chased her.

"Mary!" He yelled after her, but she was running the fastest she'd ever had. "Mary, stop!" His legs were always longer than hers, but even then he couldn't catch up. And then he realized where she was running to.

He stopped and turned to the left, through a short cut they did not often use. He beat her to the old cabin, and when she came crashing through the sinewy trees she didn't stop, but instead came barreling straight into his arms.

At first he didn't know what to do. He'd never held a girl before, (apart from his sisters, but that did not count), and much less one that was crying as hard as she was. But she was his best friend. So he wrapped his arms around her and hushed her as best as he could, and eventually they ended up sitting on the muddy floor, any care for their Sunday clothes forgotten.

"What happened?" He asked her once she stopped wheezing and pulled herself away from him, embarrassed.

She just shook her head and walked the short distance to their old cabin. She touched everything on her way in. The walls that were still standing, the crumbling chimney…. dust collected on her fingertips and she wiped it off on her already soiled white dress.

"Mary," Francis said, as he watched her from the doorway, his blue eyes overflowing with worry.

"I'm moving away," she told him simply, with a voice much stronger and sure than what she felt.

"What?" He asked, bewildered. "Where?" He walked towards her, his eyebrows scrunching together and his hands fidgeting like he did when he got called on to answer a question at school.

"I don't know. But my mom said she's getting married and we're moving."

"You can't," he shook his head, curls flying everywhere.

"I don't want to," she wheezed out, containing her tears. She cleaned her nose with her fist, not even caring about how she must have looked.

"Then don't! You can come live with us!" He told her, desperately. "I'll…I'll share my bunk bed with you." He said, even if it had already been destined for his brother Charles, who did not need his crib anymore.

"We both know I can't do that." She said, even if she wanted more than anything to stay here, with him, and his brothers and sisters, and her friends, and the woods she loves to play in and this old dirty house.

"Then I'll move out too, and we can both live here!" Francis exclaimed, throwing his arms out to show the grandeur of the rotting house where they'd played for hours together. But she knew that was impossible, and he did too, for he looked at her with an angry sort of acceptance. Sadder than she'd ever seen him. He still tried to offer her a small smile.

"Francis." She just said, breathing in in gasps, she needed to stop crying right now.

"Maybe it's close by." He said immediately, and she could almost see his brain starting to work the way it always did, with logic-whereas she was always the impulsive one. "We could still see each other all the time." He nodded as if to reassure himself. "Are you changing schools?"

"I don't know," she answered him. "I don't know."

She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "But it won't be the same." She said, and the weight of how true that was almost made her start crying all over again. He looked about ready to do that himself.

"But we're always going to be friends, right?" He asked her, holding out his hand –no spit this time. "We're always going to be together, aren't we?"

"Yeah," she said, pressing their sweaty and dirty fingers together. "Yeah."

Two weeks later, she stared at him through the rearview mirror as the car rolled away from her home. From her best friend. She took one last look at the woods, where somewhere inside their refuge laid. She left, tears cooling off her cheeks and his. A part of their childhood felt ripped away like the wild berries they used to pick.

The years went by.


	2. Chapter 2

It was five years later when she returned to the same quiet town; her newly divorced mother in tow, her head hung low from the tiredness of the drive or the shame she's not sure. Her stepfather had cheated on her. Mary had told her. He'd hit on her once, too, but she had not told that.

Their old house was never bought again, and besides the obvious signs of time passing, it looked as it always had. As if nothing had changed at all. She wasn't sure how her mother bought it back, or if Jeremy (said ex-stepfather) had bought it back for them as a last act of good will. But it was there, waiting for them as she pulled into the driveway, and then just stood outside like an idiot, unmoving.

"Go on inside, sweetie," her mom's voice distracted her. "Set your room back up. I'm too tired from driving to do mine, y'know?" she said, rummaging through the boxes inside their car for something or another.

"Yeah. Sure," she answered, taking a tentative step into the foyer of the house; all the while thinking that she'd been the one to drive the last miles –at fifteen years old and without even a learner's permit, which she was sure was fairly illegal.

"Oh, and honey, I'm meeting with some old friends tonight. Lots of catching up to do, right?" Her mother offered her a grimace probably intended to be a shameful smile. "I'll be home late," and there it was.

"Take care of yourself, all right?" she asked, and Mary didn't say _I've always done it, even when I was little and you were almost never here._

"Uh-huh." She nodded.

"Don't invite any boys over, all right?" She joked lamely, chuckling to herself because her teenage daughter spent far too much time with her nose inside books and never went out much, which she never quite understood.

But that comment is what stopped Mary cold, what made her try and peer into the farthest house down the lane, invisible from her vantage point. To _his_ house. Her brow twisted, _would he still live there_?

Her mother didn't notice, she never did.

All she did was whoop when she found her shimmering black dress out of one of the boxes, and with it in hand walked past Mary into the house. She followed.

She walked through her living room, through the kitchen, every place so foreign yet so familiar. The sleepovers with Kenna and the girls in the living room floor. That time her mother decided to quit and teach her how to bake Banana Bread, and they spent an entire afternoon trying-and failing- to produce a decent cake, before giving up and calling for pizza- which they ate on the floor covered kitchen tiles.

She climbed the creaky steps up into the second floor, and there was her room; the old, faded pink "Mary" and "Keep OUT" signs still painted on the outside. She stepped inside.

There was the corkscrew on the wall, where she tacked her homework and long ass to-do lists- a habit she still had. There was the loose board on one corner where they hid their treasures. They, him. Because his brother and sisters could've found them in his house. _Francis_. His name was familiar in her head but she hadn't said it out loud in so long. She had not thought of him for so long. (This was a lie, and she knew it deep down.)

On the corner of the room there was still her old twin bed –because her step-father insisted in buying her a new one, for her new life.

She saw it now, almost as if it was happening in front of her. That time Francis and her were eight and got into a massive pillow fight, that resulted in a bruised elbow for her, a blond head full of feathers for him, and a long and half-drunk lecture from her mother to them both, which they tried not to laugh through by pinching each other behind their backs and later felt bad about.

She wondered about him for so long, but only now it became a need to know what became of her best friend while she was away. Ten year olds didn't have many ways of communicating. A phone call every other month that soon turned into nothing. Perhaps he forgot about her. She knew at times she did as well.

They were children, and scars healed quickly at that age.

Five years was how long they spent together and how long they spent apart and she didn't even know why she was mulling over it, except that this boy had been her best friend (and the only one she'd really had), and she was here again, and felt as lost as ever. Except that this house brought everything back so fresh. So bright and sudden, that before she knew it her feet were carrying her down the steps and out the back door despite her mother's questions and then she was running through the woods, running like she hadn't done in ages, with a surge of energy and excitement, a need-to-leave-here, need-to-know-if, until she was flushed and sweaty and out of breath, and then she stopped in her tracks.

Because there it was. The same old wooden cabin, the roof appearing to have caved in more, but still standing.

And there _he _was as well, tall, blond, his legs longer than ever; a cigarette hanging carelessly from his finger while he leaned against the side of the house. She knew it was him at once.

She didn't know what to say. Maybe she should turn back.

And maybe she would have, if the crunch of the dried leaves beneath her sneakers had not given her away. He looked up, bewildered –because no one knew of this place-, before a flash of recognition sparked in his bright blue eyes.

"…Mary?"

He dropped his cigarette, her heart plummeted through her chest. They were both at a loss.

"I can't believe it." She mumbled, stupidly.

"Is it you?" he asked, pushing off the cabin and walking to her.

"Fran-_Francis_?" The widest smile stretched her lips.

"Hey." he said simply, shaking his head as if to clear it, messy curls flying everywhere.

"Hi." she told him.

They were at a loss until they were in each other's arms. He was holding her so tight she could hardly breathe.

But after a second, they almost jumped apart, his face red and her cheeks flushed –which she thankfully could excuse from her run.

His mind was on overdrive. She was here, and she was back-and they'd been such good friends even now-years later-their group still had a Mary-shaped hole no one had been able to fill. What could he have said to her? _I don't make a habit of squeezing the breath out of strangers?_But she wasn't a stranger. Not in the least.

"I'm-I'm sorry, I just-" he tripped over his words.

"It's okay," she stopped him. "I know."

And she looked away, clasping her hands together-because now she didn't know what to say; his eyes went over her shoulder to the darkening forest, his hands sinking into his pockets.

"You-umm, you still remembered the way," he said, his blue eyes sparkling, as he looked down at her instead of straight ahead.

"As if I could forget," she said, and then all the lost years were gone.

.:.

He nodded his head toward the cabin, and she followed his lead inside. She somehow expected to find the beanbag and flashlight they used to keep in here, the flask for catching fireflies, but of course the house had changed almost as much as him

Worse for the wear on the outside, on the inside it seemed almost decent, a mattress in a corner, booze bottles in the windowsill. A battery powered radio.

Still a place to run away to.

She sat down on the mattress, and he sat down next to her. Tentative. Awkward. Until it wasn't.

He opened one of the bottles from his stash and passed it to her with a hafl-smile, after taking a swig himself, and she took it gratefully. Liquid courage, perhaps, but as they began to pass it back and forth, it seemed as if they had never drifted apart. She knew she probably kept staring at him, noting how tall he was and thin, and how his hair was all over the place but still managed to look good -but if he noticed he did not say. In truth, he was making an inventory of his own. He couldn't help but notice curves that were not there before, full lips that now complimented a face he thought he had forgotten but was always present.

She started out simple.

"Do you mind me asking just _how_ did you bring a mattress in here," she asked, halfway to pleasantly buzzed, "all the way through the woods?"

"Took me a whole day, not going to lie." He smiled, taking the bottle from her hands. It was whiskey, but not the cheap stuff. With an alcoholic in denial for a mother she knew a thing or two, and it was good. Probably his father's.

"I bought it for ten bucks off an old couple who was moving to a nursery home a town over," he told her, shrugging, and slipping into the story-teller mode she knew so well. He talked about how they told him they didn't want to leave it behind, but could not bring in with them. The old man and woman shared their story with him- Francis was someone you could just trust, she knew- and she got to hear about the old woman, _Mary_

"-you're joking," she said.

"I swear to God," he laughed.

Mary, waited for her husband during WWII, how they raised 3 children in their house and they all jumped on that bed, and how it held so many memories they didn't want to throw it in the trash.

"And so they sold it to you," she said, leaning on her knees to look at him, the light through the window becoming dimmer and dimmer.

"They gave it to me," he said, "after I told them my friends and I were looking for something to go camping with. To be honest I just felt bad. But they thought we could give it one last adventure, so I said yes.

I brought it here instead," he shrugged. "Pretty much had to shove the bill into his hand-It was all they would take for it. That said-I had to drag it here on the hottest day this town has ever seen, the thing wouldn't budge a couple of times. I almost left it behind."

She leant back against the old mattress, the thing was huge and heavy, pretty sturdy if it was so old, and she couldn't help but imagine what lives the people before had had.

"But you didn't," she said. "Francis?" she asked sweetly.

"Huh?"

"Are you sure you aren't bullshitting me?"

He laughed out loud, and it made her feel warm and happy all of the sudden, like coming home.

"No!" he snorted. "Actually happened. Cross my heart."

"So it has a story already," she mumbled, she always liked old things, second-hand stuff, it was far more interesting to imagine what had come before than to give something a new story. "And no sordid stories of your own to tell?"

He coughed, his eyes bulging out.

"I'm joking!" Maybe. She was pretty buzzed.

"You're still nosy," he told her, and she could not believe that she was in a car with her mother merely an hour ago.

"I've actually never brought anyone here," he said, looking straight at her. He hadn't, not even after she left; not even when he started high school or later when he had a girlfriend, not even Olivia, even after her mother found them in his room and threw her clothes out the window.

"Really?" she asked, silently relishing that even after all these years there was still something only she and someone else had shared. "Well, you never liked to share," she looked away, "so selfish" she joked lamely, taking another swing of the bottle, and not grimacing at the taste this time.

"You could say that," he answered her.

They talked for hours then. Long after the moon came up and he had to light up a kerosene lantern he had in one corner.

"Wouldn't a flashlight had been easier?"

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" he said over his shoulder, the fire turning his hair into gold. "Besides, don't you like the effect?" he joked.

It was truth, their shadows were reflected on all corners of the big open space, and the wind moving the trees outside made her feel like they were out of time-in a place entirely their own, just as it always had been.

He asked her about her adventures, but she didn't have any to share.

"Mom got married. We moved away. Mom got divorced, we moved back. What about you? How are the little ones?"

It was funny, she thought, that they had always called his little brothers and sisters "the little ones" even when they themselves were no more than children.

"Elizabeth is doing well, as always. Graduated middle school with perfect grades. Claude is going through a bit of an emo phase. Black eyeliner, dip dyed hair. The works. They'll love to know you're back," he smiled. "And Charlie just started first grade, he's a heartbreaker I hear."

"I wonder who he takes after." She might have been flirting or she might have been a bit drunk, she wasn't sure. But he smiled, and so did she.

"Henry just turned 5."

"He was a baby when I left," she said, that day still clear as ever.

"It's been a long time," Francis sighed, smiling at her like he liked that time was over. Like he was glad to have her back.

"And Bash? And the girls?" she asked, desperate now to know how her world had continued on without her.

"My brother works at this car shop up on 6th street now. He rents an apartment right on top too. My dad keeps pushing him to go to college but he doesn't want to yet," Francis shared, the same admiration in his voice that she always heard –and sometimes shared- when they were younger.

"He graduated last year, can't say I blame him," he shrugged. "And your _clique_," he said, taking a drink.

"My _what_?" she laughed, opening her hand for him to give the bottle back.

"Or, what is it you used to call them when we were little and played here? Your _ladies_?"

"You promised you'd never tell anyone!" she yelled, outraged (and very drunk).

"I haven't, I swear," he laughed, but she wasn't convinced. He had a smile that could get him away with anything short of murder. "They're good. Kenna is dating Bash actually. I see her around a lot. And the rest of them are great too, they won't believe you're back."

She smiled at the last bit of news, relishing the burn of the alcohol as it made her way down her chest, warming her up. Kenna always had a little crush on Bash. They all did at some point or another. She couldn't wait to meet with them all again. It suddenly felt as if things would go better than what she feared, if Francis was any indication. And at that, she realized that he had not spoken a word about himself. It was so him, really, to worry about everyone else but leave himself behind.

"And what about you? What have… _you _been up to," she pointed at him, her words slurring a bit, "_King _Francis?" she giggled (_giggled_), reminding him of their favorite game.

"Look around darlin'," he told her, spreading out his arms, "not much has changed here." He chuckled, with a self-deprecating sense of humor that was entirely new to her.

Francis took a long swig of the bottle, offering her the last of the bitter liquid, which she took graciously. He leant back on the mattress then, his dark shirt crawling up his stomach, showing her pale skin and thin blond hair that disappeared into his pants. He fell back, staring at the roof, a goofy smile on his face -no doubt thanks to the alcohol –and she looked at him. This boy… so entirely familiar and such a stranger at once, who she once had loved and was not quite sure just how much. She spoke after a beat,

"I missed you," she told him. He turned his head sideways, looking up at her through hooded eyes.

"So did I."

She thought it would be strange, after all this time, but it was as if they still were those wild children, chasing each other through the woods barefoot, running away from their lives. And maybe they still were. What was true is it had always been there, that pull towards each other, and she was glad to know it hadn't disappeared.

They got completely hammered and stumbled home that night, the woods dark and quiet but not fearful to them, as they knew them as the back of their hand. He told her goodbye clumsily, his hand brushing her neck as he kissed her cheek goodnight. Nobody noticed when the fifteen year old boy and girl came back at nighttime reeking of booze and trees. And for the first time in a while, they did not care.


	3. Chapter 3

She woke up at noon the next day, to sharp knocks on her door that finally made her understand why her mother was so bothered by noise when she came back from her usual parties. It felt as if someone was bombing the inside of her head.

She opened the door gingerly, squinting against the sun, only to be met by a pair of familiar brown eyes.

"Francis said you were probably hung-over so we brought coffee. A Starbucks opened here earlier this year, can you believe it?" the girl said, holding up two cups of coffee in her hands and sporting a wide smile on her lips.

"Kenna?"

"Don't tell me you don't recognize me now?" Kenna said, with the usual spark in her eyes that hadn't changed one bit. "I mean I know these," she looked down to her chest, "are sort of new, but I'm pretty much the same."

She barely had time to process how she was still as outspoken as ever when a sweet-sounding voice sounded from behind Kenna, and she opened the door wider –Kenna slipped through- to her old friends standing there, Greer and Lola to the back, and Aylee, who'd spoken, standing there with a repentant smile.

"I told her we should give you time to adjust and not just barge in, but she wouldn't listen," she said apologetically.

"Aylee?" she asked, her own smile spreading on her face. "I can't believe this. Greer, Lola."

"Hey stranger," Greer said timidly, and then Kenna came up from behind her and Aylee hugged her and she found herself in the center of her friends' embrace.

"We're all together again," she exclaimed, as she wrapped her arms around her friends, happiness making a home in her chest again.

.

"So….about Francis," Kenna said, as they sat on the couch, open pizza boxes around them. Morning coffee passed through lunch (Mary's mother slipped out the minute the sun went down.) and turned into a dinner of pizza and beer.

("Because we can drink together now!" Kenna had exclaimed.

"It's not like we couldn't drink together before. It's just we were 10. We weren't supposed to," Aylee said. "We still aren't supposed to-"

"Yeah, but now we don't feel guilty about it!"

Aylee had looked at her like that was very much not the case.)

"What about him?" Mary asked, taking a bite off breadstick.

"You got completely drunk last night, God knows you've have the hots for each other for forever-"

"I just got here, and we were ten!" she exclaimed, her face burning up as she remembered the way she'd felt seeing him again, and hoped her staring hadn't been as intent or obvious as she recalled.

"Details. Everyone in school knew you two wanted to …hold hands, or kiss under the bleachers, or do whatever kids do at that age. I don't know," Kenna muttered.

"We were best friends," she said, explaining herself. "All of us," she added, to not leave her girlfriends apart.

"To be fair…you didn't disappear with _us_ for hours," Lola playfully added, and Kenna extended her beer to clink it with hers.

"Oh leave her, it's none of our business," Greer said, looking at Mary. "Though I do think you'd be good together, Mary."

"We're friends, or at least- I want us to still be friends," she said, thinking that regaining all of her old friends seemed far too lucky. "It's been a long time. We were just kids."

"_And_ we were the best of friends, like you said," Aylee told her, squeezing her hand. "We still are," she smiled, and Mary smiled thankfully back at her. Aylee felt like the little sister she never had. Her family was probably the only one who had the means to leave this town for something better, yet she was still here and it made Mary so glad.

"Just sayin'. The way Francis told Bash and I this morning that you'd come back? You'd think he saw the second coming of Jesus." They laughed, Mary included, but deep down she hoped it was true.

"So," Kenna paused, seeming to accept that nothing had happened between the two of them, "since we haven't seen you in years. Are you still virgin Mary?"

"Kenna!" they all screamed, pizza corners flying at her while she hid behind the couch, wheezing with laughter.

They ended up sprawled up on the floor, all five of them staring at the roof and sharing stories of failed 8th grade relationships and first kisses (Aylee still had not kissed anyone, which Mary prevented the rest from teasing her about) and it felt as if she still fit here, as if she never had left. She had her friends, and she had Francis, and things seemed as if they would be just fine.

.

Francis and Bash organized a barbecue on the outskirts of town the week after she arrived, and they brought all of their brothers and sisters.

Mary caught up with Elizabeth and hanged out with Claude (with whom she made plans to go the salon together to cut their hair; Claude secretly got tired of the blue tips but didn't want to tell Elizabeth to come with her).

She played football with Charles and promised to visit him more often ("And not just to see Francis!" the boy exclaimed, which made her ears turn pink, even more when Kenna raised an eyebrow at her.)

She talked with Bash, remembering the crush she had on him for like half of second grade, because his eyes were too pretty. He treated her like the big brother she always wanted, yet she had to stop him when he wanted her to be a double agent for whatever Kenna said about him.

"No can do. It's the Girl Code," she said, as he flipped burgers on the old grill they'd brought on the back of his truck.

"Oh come on! You too with that stuff? I'd tell you if you asked me anything of Francis," he said, "in fact," his eyes twinkled with mischievousness, "I might just tell you_ without_ your asking. He cried for a week straight after you left."

"Hey Mary!" Francis yelled at her then, and Bash winked at her before returning to his half-assed cooking, whistling in the most fake I-just-lied way she's heard. She ran back to him, shaking her head because they were ten. Of course he cried, she did too, if albeit a bit longer.

Later, with bellies full of food, they shared old stories of their own and told Mary new ones she'd missed. The day progressively cooled off, and the very breeze had a sense of familiarity she'd missed all those years.

Henry fell asleep pillowed in Lizzie's thigh, during one of Bash's car shop client stories, and Charlie was pretty close to dozing off himself.

"I think that one's out of the running," Bash said, his arm around Kenna, signaling to the now sleeping five year old.

"I think it's time I take them home," Francis said, despite protests that they could just sleep here. "I'll drive right back." He carefully bent to pick up Henry and the boy wrapped his hands around his big brother and went right back to sleep.

"I'll go with you," Mary said, standing up and dusting off her shorts.

"It's your party," he told her, "stay. It's fine."

"I'm coming," she said again, and he didn't fight her this time. "Besides, I still haven't said hi to your mom."

"Well, good luck with _that_," Bash snickered behind her, as she helped Charles up and walked toward Francis' car with the boy's hand in her own. Claude ended up wanting to go back too, and they all climbed into the car; Francis tenderly laying Henry in the middle sit and fastening his seatbelt. Mary had no idea of the fond smile she had on her face.

"Thank you for today Francis," she said a while later, when they were almost to his house.

"It was nothing at all," he shrugged it off, "Bash helped a lot, and the girls-"

"But it was your idea, wasn't it?" she interrupted him.

He merely looked at her, but in a way that made her feel warmer than the summer air coming through the open window and ruffling her hair.

"I just wanted you to know how much we all missed you," he said, holding on to her hand as he let go of the shift stick. Her heart jumped in her chest.

"I'm still in the car." Claude made sure to point out from the backseat.

"I thought you were asleep, you little monster," Francis said, letting go of her hand, and she was pretty damn sure his cheeks were red.

.

The dog days were nearly over when her birthday rolled around.

Her party was held on the lake the college kids from so far as 3 towns over use for their keggers. Hitting sixteen was a big deal apparently, and half their school showed up bearing presents ranging from a sixpack of beer to a thrift shop necklace, maybe because they didn't have a lot of excuses to party –Lola assured her that almost everyone there at least knew used to know her. And the ones who did, liked her, Aylee added. Bash showed up then, hand in hand with Kenna, both with mirroring smiles and hugs for her; and joked that there was never anyone who couldn't like her.

It was a hell of party, that was for sure. They all swam in the lake, had chicken fights and jumped off the rope tied to an ancient tree trunk bent over the water. They let their clothes dry with the air and warmed themselves by the fire someone started.

Later that night she and Aylee, Greer and Lola danced in the center of the throng of people; hot and breathless and spinning around. She motioned for Francis to join her, but he refused, stepping back and just watching her, lighting a cigarette and bringing it to his lips, which were bent in a smile. They danced and laughed, and eventually Kenna joined them too, her lipstick all over the place-but Mary still felt his eyes on her (and tried not to dance for him, but perhaps she did, just a little).

Near one a.m, while most people were still (drunk) dancing to Nicki Minaj thanks to whoever had brought the speakers, she and Francis ended up having to find a place a bit secluded to have a breath from all the people.

He helped her climb over a small rock formation, one hand in hers and the other on her waist, and when they sat down, she found they had an amazing view of the lake, the few people still swimming in it, and everyone else still dancing; the top of the trees and the huge sky spread out blue.

"Here," he said simply, fishing a box out of his dark jeans.

She took it, her brow furrowed, and opened it only to reveal a beautiful gold ring, which appeared to have a coin of sorts instead of a jewel, the face of a woman in silver adorning it. She smiled.

This is what meant the most to her. Her sixteenth birthday and her best friend and this old ring he gave her after everyone else was halfway to drunk.

"It's gorgeous," she said honestly, hoping he didn't hear her breath catching in her throat.

"I remember when I was eleven, my schizophrenic grandfather swore up and down it once belonged to a queen," he shook his head sadly, "I found it again going through the attic with the kids a few weeks ago," he explained. "I…I know it's not much -but I thought it'd only be fitting that it belong to a Queen now.

Happy birthday Mary," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her cheek. She closed her eyes -he was so close.

She took the ring out then and slipped it on the first finger of her left hand, the worn gold feeling warm on her skin despite the slight chill of the wind that night.

She leant back against him with a small smile, and they watched the stars.

.

A couple of weeks later she enrolled for the new school year with them, and got her first taste at how high school should be like. She didn't take a book to read at school anymore during recess, instead found herself the center of her group of friends once again.

She and Francis exchanged banter that made everyone laugh, and after the initial buzz of Mary coming back, and the inquiries of why she did stopped, (Francis stopped some of those, once the subject got too close to her life at home and she didn't have a witty come back-which she was thankful for) everything went back to normal.

She sat on the cafeteria table and caught the cereal he threw at her with her mouth, and they were just kids once more. They laughed until their stomach hurt and then went back to whatever was waiting at home. Then went back to their cabin and each other. And that was life.

.

He ran away from his own birthday party with her, after most everyone was too drunk to care and Bash's place stank of sweaty teenagers, cheap tequila and vomit. He clapped his half-brother on the shoulder as he left, a laughing Mary trailing behind him, her arm threaded through his as they pushed through the mass of people towards the front door of the small apartment.

"We can't drive," she laughingly told him as they stumbled down the stairs from Bash's apartment.

"Then let's run!" he exclaimed her, and his smile was so big she would've flied if he'd asked her to- except she couldn't.

"I'm wearing heels!" she shrieked as he pulled her faster by the hand.

"Come on," he prompted, turning around and pulling her close. "Get on," he said, and she did as he asked and climbed on his back.

He gave her a piggy back ride through several blocks until she decided he'd had enough and opted for taking off her shoes as they crossed the street and entered the forest.

There was just enough moonlight for them to guide themselves, and soon enough they saw the outline of the old cabin in the familiar clear in the distance. She didn't ask where they were going, and she wasn't sure he even knew; but they always found themselves gravitating back to this place.

.

Once they made it there, she opened the door and pretty much threw herself in the mattress, landing with a thud that made her head bounce. They were both breathless from the walk here, and so quiet their breathing and the music of the insects outside was the only thing that could be heard.

He sat down too, and he was so acutely aware of her presence next to him - her smell, her dark eyes looking out the window- everything. Aware and alert like he'd never been with anyone else; and his thoughts were running wild.

He didn't know why she was different at all. She shouldn't be. In fact, he shouldn't be so compelled by the idea of kissing her or touching her as he was. They practically grew up together. She should feel like one of his sisters.

And yet she didn't. She felt like one of the few constants in his life. Solid. Always there, even when she couldn't be. She felt like a part of himself.

It wasn't like he hadn't kissed a girl before. Hell, it wasn't even like he hadn't had sex before. But with Mary, everything felt more important. It just felt as _more_. And what if she didn't feel the same, what if he ruined what they'd always had?

"Hey. Talk to me," she demanded, as he'd been staring off into space and unintendedly ignoring her. "Francis?" she laughed, waving her hand in front of him. "Talk to me!"

He didn't think twice before crushing his lips to hers.

She was startled for a second before she relaxed, molding her body to his as if it was made to be there. Then, pulling him even closer.

.

The warmth of the sun on his back is what woke him, and he realized soon enough that he wasn't alone, his arm cradling a smaller warm body to himself as if he needed it to breathe. And he did need her, so damn much. He took the time to look at her, her eyeliner was smudged and her hair was a mess from his fingers running through it, and she had never looked more beautiful to him.

The peaceful quiet broke when she started stirring, and a nervousness resurfaced on the pit of his stomach, of facing things in the light of day and significantly more sober.

"Good morning," he whispered softly, pushing her hair away from her face, and hoped-just hoped.

"You kissed me," is the first thing she said as she looked up at him, her hand on his arm.

"If I remember right, you kissed me back," he answered, a smug smile taking over his lips.

"Yes," she affirmed, raising herself up to kiss his cheek and feeling the roughness of his morning stubble and her heart beating hard in her ears.

"I want you to do it again," she whispered, and they smiled_._


	4. Chapter 4

They really thought Kenna would bully them more than she did, but her quiet and smug I-knew-it smile was almost worst.

After that first kiss (and the many following in that sun drenched morning), neither shied away, and it didn't take them very long at all to tell everyone they were dating (never mind they hadn't gone on a single date, yet). The tittles of boyfriend and girlfriend didn't seem to fit them, since after so much history they both feel like something...more. But it was what they had, so they used it.

It became the norm them, to see them hanging around even closer than before, his arm casually thrown around her at the school cafeteria; their hands clasped, or her head resting on his shoulder, when they all hung out at Bash's apartment.

Catherine didn't like her coming to his house as much as she used to, but she'd always hated his girlfriends. Marie didn't give two shits about what her daughter did with her life.

.

Aylee got the letter of acceptance on a Friday, and they all spent the weekend over-crowding Bash's apartment with the knowledge that she was moving far away. Too far.

"_Academy of Young Scholars_.That…sounds fancy, like, really fancy," Kenna said, passing the by now crumpled and dirty letter to Lola.

"Well, it is in Washington," Lola said, eyeing the letter up and down.

"Fancy," Kenna repeated.

"It is," Aylee affirmed, "when my parents made me send an application I never thought I'd get in."

"We're happy for you," Mary said, sitting on the floor between Francis' legs, their fingers intertwined on her shoulder. "Really happy, and proud." Her eyes watered.

"Oh, Mary!" Aylee threw her arms around her, and Francis stood up with the excuse of getting another beer to let the girls be.

"I'll write all the time," Aylee said, holding her even tighter, "I promise."

Mary nodded, but even if they were older now, she knew how promises of keeping in touch could fade away.

"And we'll write to you," Greer said, coming closer to them and squeezing Aylee's shoulder.

"You won't even have time to study with the other brainiacs because you'll be checking all of your e-mails," Lola added, and she Kenna came over across the carpet too, squeezing tiny Aylee into a death grip.

"I don't know about you," Kenna said after a few minutes, pulling away from the hug and wiping her eyes, "but I'm done crying about this, so I think we should-"

"Party?" they all asked at the same time, Aylee a little cautious, Lola excited, and Greer and Mary like it was exactly what they expected her to say.

"Am I really that predictable?" Kenna asked and they laughed, but then she nodded. "I had the best idea…"

.

"Brother," Francis nodded as he walked into the tiny kitchen, searching the fridge for a drink, but Bash's eyes were trained in the groups of girls currently weeping and hugging in his living room.

"How did I let my bachelor pad become this?" Bash asked Francis as he took another swig of his beer, his eyes never straying from the scene unfolding in front of them.

"Perhaps when you stopped being a bachelor, brother?" Francis chuckled, eyeing Bash's stance. He seemed to be keeping himself there, not interrupting the girls and joining in the group hug by sheer force of will. "Wait, are you getting emotional too? Is that a tear I see?" he teased.

"Shut up, or I'll tell Mary you cried when we saw Monsters Inc. last year with the kids," Bash threatened, pointing his bear at Francis.

"She knows," he shrugged. They'd watched it again a couple of weeks ago, to the same result.

"Oh no," Bash said, jokingly schooling his features into looking thoroughly horrified. "We're both whipped," he whispered, clasping his half-brother's shoulder.

"Bash! We can use your truck for a road trip to the beach, right?!" Kenna yelled from the living room, and next to Francis, Bash audibly swallowed.

"I need another beer."

.

They (excluding Bash) blew off school to go on the road trip, a week before Aylee was supposed to catch the plane. Bash drove Henry's truck and Francis drove Bash's, and they made countless stops along the way- to have supposedly the best burgers in the south, to see the tomb of some important general, to pick flowers because it'd be poetic- and got there in much more time than they should have, sleeping in the car as whoever lost rock-paper-scissors had to take the night shift and drive.

The afternoon sky bled into pink after they'd been there a few hours, the sun setting in the distance and reflecting off the waves. Francis tightened his arms around Mary, a sweet protection against the chilly, salt-smelling breeze. They sat on a stone wall a little ways off the beach, watching Bash chase Kenna with something in his hands; Greer, Kenna and Aylee chatting underneath an umbrella.

Mary's legs were hanging from the edge, Francis' arms around her waist the only thing keeping her safe, tethered; her own hands drawing shapes over his. He nuzzled that space behind her ear, pressing a kiss on her pulse point.

"I love you," he whispered against her skin, quiet like a secret.

Her breath caught in her throat in the best of ways, warmth spreading through her chest. She didn't break the atmosphere with words, not yet. She only brought his hands a little closer, breathed him in a little deeper, and smiled against his lips as she turned and caught the words with her mouth.

.

A month after they started dating Bash gave Francis a serious talk about "not hurting her" that he recounted to her word by word. They did nothing but laugh, she rolling on the floor of their cabin.

"He _really_ said that?" she gasped out, dabbing at the moisture gathering on her lashes from laughing so hard.

"Yes," Francis told her, his eyes following her wistfully –as if she wasn't already his- and with a smile that stretched his lips and pushed his eyebrows up. "He considers you another one of his sisters, I'm sure."

"And what about you?" she asked him, nonsensically, just to rile him up a bit.

"I'm your boyfriend," he told her, angling his head as if figuring out what she was about this afternoon. "That's gross."

"No, you're gross," she answered back like a child, because she was drunk in this feeling, this…peace and happiness she hadn't known in years. The knowledge that she was loved and she could tease him all she wanted and pull on his ridiculously wonderful hair and kiss him senseless.

"See, you're just asking for it," he shrugged, standing up from his place on the mattress and walking toward her, his hands open, long fingers wriggling.

"No," she scrambled back on her butt and feet, hands propelling her away from him and his mischievous eyes. "Francis," she said cautiously, "no. No!"

He ignored her, catching up with his stupidly long legs. He pinned her down with his lithe body and tickled her unmercifully, his fingers relentless at her sides.

"Stop!" she gasped, trying to bat his hands away, "Francis!"

"Stop, what?" he asked teasingly, and she swore once he was off her she'd wipe the smirk off his face.

"Stop! Pleasestop!" He finally stopped torturing her, and she caught her breath in big gulps of air, "I hate you," she said. Her stomach hurt from laughing so much, but his eyes looked so blue in the moment, almost as if they god damned sparkled that she couldn't do anything but pull his head down and capture his lips with her own.

"I thought you hated me," he told her smugly from above her, once he pulled away. Damn him.

She would've answered him appropriately if she hadn't seen the monster on the wall behind him.

"Oh my God!" she yelped, pushing him away from her, and pointing behind him. He stood up, startled, and found himself staring at the mother of all cockroaches walking along the wall.

"Kill it!" she exclaimed, her back against the other wall. She hates bugs. Francis used to catch crickets when they were little and chase her around with them, and she always hated the things. Cockroaches are even worse

"I'm on it," he chuckled as he jumped on one foot, taking off his shoe, "calm down." He chased the thing, finally squashing it in a corner.

He looked back at her, smiling with mirth at her stance.

"Mary?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"We need to upgrade our living arrangements."

He said it jokingly, offhandedly, but when she looked at him, she knew he meant it. It didn't matter they were barely sixteen years old or that the odds were stacked against them, the future was alive with possibility they both wanted to take.

.

She stayed over at his house the night Aylee's parents drove her to the airport (they were still packing and would catch up to her in a few weeks). Her mom out with some friends, the house was so terribly quiet that for the first time she couldn't bear to be alone-and now, like the old days, she didn't have to. Unlike the old days however, now she was not allowed sleepovers at this house. With Henry and Charles -who were in the living room, watching cartoons in their pj's- sworn to secrecy, Mary slipped into Francis' bedroom, climbed into his bed, and settled down.

She could hear the shower running from the adjoined bathroom he shared with Elizabeth and Claude, so she just laid there, staring at the wall. The sheets smelled like him, and she could just imagine him waking up here, messy hair and sleepy eyes, it did something to her chest, knowing that he was here and he loved her and he wanted to be with her. She felt the gaping hole of Aylee's absence simmer down as she inhaled his scent, feeling just a tiny bit like a creep. She smiled to herself, curling her arms underneath his pillow and setting her eyes on the bathroom door, willing it to open faster.

A few minutes later he came out, holding a towel at his waist, his hair dark with water and dripping droplets onto the planes of his chest. She felt her face redden.

"Mary," he said softly, perhaps noticing her swollen eyes, they'd all cried themselves out at the airport.

"Hey," she greeted sheepishly.

"Let me get some clothes on," he told her, picking out some items randomly and slipping into the bedroom again.

He sat on the bed when he came out, his hand a familiar and comforting weight on her waist.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his thumb rubbing circles in her skin, and she nodded, swallowing.

"Yeah," she affirmed, "I just didn't want to be alone tonight."

He nodded, as if he knew she would come walking down their street in her pajamas and slip into his house unannounced instead of being logical and texting him to come over, but at the moment it seemed like the best idea. His house feels more like a home than hers does, the sound of the TV downstairs, the children laughing, the smell of dinner still hanging in the air. It felt alive, like a home should. Hers was just an old building who'd seen one too many cigarette butts making marks on its walls.

He slipped inside the covers after her, molding his body to hers.

"I'm right here," he whispered into her hair, and there, in that small bed, her knees pressed against the wall, the warmth of his body all around her, she swore it was the best she ever went to sleep.

.

Morning found them still curled around one another, his arms a cocoon around her, her hair fanned on his pillow.

"_Francis,_" Elizabeth whispered as she shook his brother's shoulder. "_Hey, dumbass._"

He muttered something unintelligible.

"Francis!" she pinched his shoulder, and his eyes sprung open.

"Liz!" he exclaimed, but she signaled him to quiet.

"Mom's still asleep, you should get her out of here before she wakes up," she said, nodding to Mary, still fast asleep next to him. He knew how it looked.

"Lizzie, it's not…"

"I don't want to hear it," she smiled, raising both of her arms as she walked into the bathroom and back into her own room.

"Thanks for the heads up," he said, before she closed the door.

"I care about Mary," Elizabeth said simply, and then "and about you too, wouldn't want mom to ban her from this house and then have you be all mopey."

"Love you too, Liz," he told her warmly.

"You're still a dumbass," she said, the door closing after her. Claude's voice came through as she, too, woke up. His sister had good timing.

A sudden giggle from the covers next to him called his attention, and he pulled them back to discover a sleepy yet laughing Mary.

"Were you awake this whole time?" he asked her, leaning over her supported by his elbow.

"No…" she said innocently, looking at anything but his eyes. "_dumbass_," she whispered, and then he was tickling her and peppering her face with kisses. After a moment, he pulled away, more somber.

"Are you feeling better? About Aylee, I mean."

"A little," she said. "I'll miss her, but I know she's better off there." She was, in a place with a lot more possibilities and options to choose from than a tiny backwater town where nothing ever happened. Maybe she always knew the girl who'd been like a sister to her would leave. She thought about it while Francis picked out his clothes and threw them in a bag, saying he'd shower at her place and that they had to leave before his mom woke up.

Still, he was uncharacteristically quiet, letting her live in her own head without asking what she was thinking. She looked at him, and noticed every so often he would look back at her like _she'd_ be the one to disappear from his life.

"Francis?" No better time than now.

"Hmmm?"

"I want you to know," she said, her heart beating fast, "whatever happens, that I love you."

He looked up at her words, his eyes shining brighter than the morning sun streaming through the window.

_._

They made love for the first time on that old mattress, in the middle of that dilapidated house, between a sea of leaves the wind had scattered across the floor.

What there was: the flickering candles he lit up and the breeze blew out, the flash of nervousness she felt at the sound of plastic crinkling, the tremble of hands at discovering new skin, the heated kisses, but overall the feeling that this was new and old at the same time, and so rightit took her breath away, but not nearly as much as he did.

What there was not: embarrassment, shame, guilt. She knew he'd done it before but she didn't think about it or felt self-conscious, not when he worshipped her body like she was not just the only woman he desired but the only woman in the world. She didn't think of pain or stains blooming like red flowers in the fabric, or that it could ever be a mistake.

They fell asleep in a tangle of sweaty limbs and sheets in the old mattress they'd given a new story.

.

She held his hand when he found out about his father.

Elizabeth gaped at her mother, her eyes watering; Claude and Charlie started crying; but he just squeezed her hand harder and stood up suddenly, the slamming of his bedroom door heard throughout the house a second later.

"What does a tumor mean, mommy?" little Henry asked Catherine, looking around at his siblings bewildered. She just burst out crying. Mary felt overwhelmed herself, the house stifling all of a sudden, concern for Francis and pity for his mother, grief and worry over his siblings crowding inside her. She knew she couldn't go to him now, so she did the next best thing.

"Hey, Henry, do you want to...eh…go to my house, for some ice-cream?" she asked him, and then looked up at Catherine.

"Yes, baby, why don't you go with Mary?" she suggested right away, not even looking at him as she sank down to Claude's level and took the girl's hand between her own.

"Come," she said, offering her hand to Henry, and the little boy took it. She couldn't quite process what she'd just heard, but all she knew was that it made more good to get Henry out of that house than to go after Francis.

He wouldn't talk to her while he was like this. And even if he opened that door, she didn't know what she could say to him. Her father had died when she was a newborn, she didn't feel his loss. She had no idea what he was going to go through.

She walked down the long dusty sidewalk, Henry's fingers warm between her own, and for the first time pointedly ignored the questions of the little boy. She finally opened the door to her house, Henry in tow. She put her fingers to her lips so he would be quiet, as her mother was passed out on the couch, still in the previous night's dress. He nodded, eyeing her mother carefully.

She helped Henry up into the kitchen isle, and then pulled a carton of Ben&Jerry's Francis had bought for her out of the fridge, offering it to the boy with a spoon, which he accepted with wide eyes. She didn't think with so many sibling he ever got something all to himself.

She leant back against the wall, running her hands over her forehead, finally realizing what was happening. She found a sob building up in her throat, and she wasn't sure if it was for Francis or for his father. Even if she'd never been close to Henry, father, she knew him, and he was going to die.

She was watching his youngest son happily and messily eating ice cream in her kitchen counter, and the man was going to die.

She remembered how much time Francis' dad spent with Bash but how little with Francis. How he taught Bash how to drive and change tires, and how Bash was the one to teach Francis those things, and not his dad. And yet she knew Francis loved his father, no matter how much he said he didn't care; this would break his heart. It was so much harder to resent someone when they weren't there.

"Mary?" she heard a raspy voice say, coming from the darkened living room.

"We're in the kitchen," she answered him, her voice stronger than she would have guessed it to be, like she felt she had to be for him. When he appeared before her, all that resolution went to shit.

His eyes were rimmed with red, and his hair was a mess from seemingly pulling at it. He'd obviously been crying and that undid her, her very joints felt weak. He was always the strong, logical one. She was the one who burst out crying when they couldn't catch any fireflies, but now he was the one looking sad and lost in the middle of her kitchen. She felt like she was trudging through muddy water when she found her voice again.

"Francis-"

"My mom told me you came here," he said, stopping her. "She asked me to bring Henry back home, Diane's brought my dad back from the hospital."

"Daddy is home?" Henry asked right away, dropping his spoon on the counter.

"Yeah," he nodded to his brother, "come on." He helped Henry jump down and then picked him up in his arms, immediately backing out from the doorway and out into the living room.

"Francis, wait-"

"Not right now Mary," he looked at her, cradling his oblivious litter brother, his eyes begging her to leave him alone. Her chest hurt. "I just," he gulped down air, "I- I'll call you, okay?"

"Yeah," she answered him helplessly. "Yeah, okay," she said again, walking them out. She watched the two blond heads disappear down the street, feeling as if her heart was sinking through her body, making a mess of things as it went down, to finally get lost between the dirty tiles of the floor. He was in pain and she couldn't fix it.

"See?" a groggy voice said behind her, "you need to stop chasing that boy around like a little-"

"Shut the fuck up," she told her mother, for once with enough venom behind it to leave her staring, and raced up the stairs to her room.

He didn't show up again that afternoon, and she didn't go to the cabin solely because he would probably be there. She didn't see him the rest of the weekend, either.

He didn't call.


	5. Chapter 5

She was dreaming of chasing him through the woods. He ducked in and out of sight, turning sharps corners around mossy trees and kicking dirt as he did. At times they were younger, she still a girl on her white church dress, and him in his pants and not much else because his starchy dress shirt itched. At times they were like now, her fingers just so brushing the hard planes of his back under his black t-shirt, just before he ran faster and she lost him. They were always barefoot, she never caught up.

She was dreaming of chasing him through the woods when something woke her up. At first she thought she was still asleep, blond curls next to her own head on the pillow, the straight plane of his nose just visible in the moonlight the window let in.

"Francis?" she asked gingerly, her hand on his shoulder. He smelled like the woods at this time of the year, wet and green and alive. "You were at the cabin," she said, not finding any other words. She was still hurt, he was still hurting.

He nodded, trailing his nose up her neck, pressing a kiss to the tender skin there. He didn't just smell of the forest.

"You've been drinking," she stated, running her hand through his hair, trying to pull him back and look into his eyes. She hadn't seen him in days and now he was here smelling more and more like he'd doused himself in booze. He'd probably climbed through the window like this, too. Jesus.

"Francis?" she finally got a good look at his eyes and her chest hurt, he seemed like a little boy, so lost; looking at something past her, not meeting her eyes. His gaze was unfocused in a way that was more than the effects of the mind-numbing alcohol he'd certainly ingested.

"Mary," he said finally, in a raspy voice. "Mary I-I need you," he let out, as if it was being torn from his throat. His hand searched blindly in the dark for her waist, and his mouth was hot against the corner of hers. Then a sob tumbled out of his throat.

"Oh, babe," she said tenderly, pulling him back. She kissed his cheek, and then his tightly closed eyelids, one after the other. "It's okay," she soothed, letting him rest on her shoulder, as more anguished sounds tumbled out of his throat. She wasn't quite sure how much his drunk state had to do with it all.

"I hate him," he said against her skin, "I do." She didn't know if he was trying to convince her or himself, so she just sank her hand in his hair and let him cry against her shoulder for the father that he knew but never really had, and now would never get the chance to.

.

He was warm against her in the pale morning light, his arm draped across her waist, his face still hidden against her neck. After he'd calmed down she'd managed to get him a glass of water and some painkillers, and then let him sleep. She'd stayed awake for a while afterwards, just running her fingers through his hair and down his back, more for her benefit than his. They'd always talked, about everything; and she was terrified that she couldn't help him now, and more than a little hurt too, even if it made sense for him to want to be with his family. She just wanted him to lean on her too; for him to know that he could; always. She succumbed to sleep minutes later, his warm breathing reassuring as it brushed across her throat.

He was still dozing against her side when the door opened.

And there, a sight to behold, was Marie Stuart, nee de Guise, her eyes popping open for a second as she came to see that, yes, her usually quiet, bookworm of a sixteen year old daughter, actually had a boy in her bed.

Mary didn't know how to react. She wasn't Kenna, or Lola; her mother had never given her the talk nor had she stablished rules she could break regarding the opposite sex. They stared at each other for a second, Francis still oblivious, lightly snoring in that sweet way of his against her shoulder. (God, she had it bad.) After a minute though, she spoke as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

"I heard what happened to Henry," she said, waving at Francis. "It's the talk of town. People are wondering if the water's radioactive now or some shit. No one's ever gotten brain tumors here. Old Carla got breast cancer and that was that," her mother rambled in that way Mary recognized she inherited, and then she waved at Francis.

"What about him, he all right?" Her mother asked, in an odd show of sympathy. Mary nodded carefully, unconsciously tightening her hold on the nape of his neck, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by her mother, who looked almost...hurt.

"Look, I know his Papa's gonna die, but it still ain't right of him to come in in the middle of the night and crawl into my daughter's bed….." she said, "Mary, I didn't raise you to be a fool."

No, Mary thought, you didn't raise me at all.

"He's cute and all and I know you like him," she waved it away, "but are you even using-"

"Mom," she stopped her, "we're fine, I swear. Just go."

Her mother raised her hands and did just that, walking backwards to her own room, where a second later she heard the door slam. She left Mary's door wide open on her way out, more to bother her –she thought- than to prevent anything from happening; but even the getting out of the bedroom was a small mercy.

Some part of Mary wished she wouldn't have. A part of her wished her mom had stayed and woken Francis off and given them both the 3rd degree over sleeping together, maybe chastised her over sex and offered to walk with her to Planned Parenthood or something like that. A part of her wished Marie had acted like an actual mom and was just furious over what they were doing (last night, nothing; from several weeks ago, plenty).

But she didn't. Just like when she was small, her mom asked one half-assed question and then left when Mary told her to. And she waved it off. She wavedthemoff, and that's probably what hurt her the most, even as she thought she'd been past getting hurt by her mother's actions when she was about 8.

The most important person in her life, the man she was in love with, and her mom waved it off like it was a simple crush. She didn't know about them, about how serious it was. And how could she, when they were at best amicable roommates?

She hadn't been a parent for her entire life, and for what Mary cared, it was too late to start now.

"I'm sorry I got you in trouble," a hoarse voice whispered in her ear, shaking her from her thoughts, and then the warmth of his breath on her cheek as he kissed her good morning.

"You didn't," she told him, "I'm not. She couldn't care less," and that knowledge hurt, but it was just a bit easier to smile when she saw how his hair was flat on one side from laying on the pillow and sticking up all over on the other side. He was adorable. "How long have you been awake?"

"My dad getting brain cancer because of a radioactive water supply?" he offered, trying to make light of it, and she liked him just a bit more for it, even as it made her chest ache.

"So, all of it?" she asked sheepishly. "I'm sorry," her fingers traced his features softly.

"Don't be," he said firmly, taking her wandering hand and kissing her palm, just the tip of his tongue touching her skin and making her breath catch from such a simple action. "I love you. You—you make it better."

She smiled softly, stretching to kiss his lips, her hand sneaking under his shirt and discovering the smooth skin of his naked back, the muscles strong under her fingertips. It wasn't smart right then, but she didn't care. He returned the feeling in kind, his hand on her thigh. He loved her, and he trusted her, and that was all she needed.

"And Mary?" he pulled away for a second.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about not calling."

.

Henry died on a Thursday.

It was nearly two months after he was diagnosed, and Francis was the last person to speak with him. Catherine had walked out to give them a minute alone, and Mary had been sitting for so long on the cold, tiled floor of the hospital her ass had gone numb, but the kids were occupying all the chairs outside the room, and she didn't want to leave in case Francis needed her. He'd been out a few times, had asked her to go home even, but she felt it more than she saw it, in that uncanny way they seemed to be as one sometimes, how despite his words he needed her there. How she was the one holding him up right then, and so she stayed, the stench of the floor cleaner prickling her nose and hating the sterile white walls more with every second that went by.

And then he came staggering out of the room, only a few minutes after Catherine it seemed, his eyes red and his expression so crestfallen and helpless that everyone knew.

She stood up as Catherine hollered down the hallway for a doctor to come in, and they just stared at each other; him shaking his head pitifully and her not knowing what to do, so she just offered her hand to him, like they did when they were just kids.

"I'm—I'm here" she said simply, hoping he understood everything she meant to convey. He nodded, holding her fingers tightly before he turned to hug Elizabeth and Claude, who were both holding back sobs.

She noticed him before they did, standing a ways off still, two cups of coffee in his hands; too late. Francis looked up and saw Bash then, and he left his sisters together to meet his brother halfway. Both embraced in the middle of the hospital hallway, grief pulsating around them all, a family she was not part off but felt for since she had memory. She held Claude as a doctor made his way inside the room, Catherine and Lizzie in tow; and even though tears finally started to spill down her cheeks, as she held the crying girl and looked at her broken boyfriend and his brother grieving together, she knew they would mend.

.

Bash spoke at Henry's funeral, Francis didn't say a word. He just played with her hand, brushing his finger over and over the worn ring he'd given her on her birthday in what felt like years ago.

They lowered his father into the ground.

.

Months flew by, and the changing of the seasons and grief forced him, and in turn her, to grow up at once. They no longer remembered what it felt like to be careless children, or hasty teenagers, but when they laid together at night, hands loosely intertwined and eyes meeting amongst whispers and caresses of devotion, they didn't care.

.

It had been a quiet afternoon. They'd lounged around all day at Bash's apartment, watching stupid comedies and battling the sticky heat of the summer with an old fan that didn't do much because of how close they were all sitting.

She came home before it was dark, to find the front door open and the always there resentment for her mother simmering just under the surface, because she'd told her, time and time again, to close it. It didn't matter that it was an old town, or that everyone knew each other-as her mother often argued-it was common sense to close the goddamn front door.

She found her mother passed out on the couch, surprisingly since it was a Saturday and her day off, and she would usually be out with her friends at that time. She had a fleeting thought that maybe she had been waiting for her, that maybe she had tried one of her 12 step programs again to get sober and wanted them to cook dinner, maybe watch something together.

She quickly dismissed that thought once she saw the vodka bottle at the corner of the couch, and for the hundredth time wondered how disappointment could feel so bitter every single time.

She was halfway up the stairs when she turned around. She couldn't just leave her mom on the couch, she'd wake up cranky and with a back ache, and that would just be worse for her on the long run- Mary tried to reason.

The truth was, her mom had been so nice the day before, a break of lucidity amongst all the drunken stupors and the angry rants about her work as a cashier, so nice and so warm to her, for a change, even inviting "that boyfriend of hers" to dinner the next weekend, that she had to help her up to her bed.

She dropped her backpack on the stairs, and walked to the couch as soundlessly as possible; from the looks of what's left in the bottle (not a drop) she would have the mother of all headaches.

She shook her mom's shoulder, softly, trying not to gag at the smell of the strong alcohol. She'd been used to it since she was a kid, but she still didn't like having it up her nose for extended periods of time. She shook her mom's shoulder again, but she didn't move. She didn't get scared then, didn't get choked up with fear just yet. It had happened before. Maybe she'd been drinking more than she could handle-again. But she shook her, harder, and she still didn't wake.

"Mom?" her voice trembled, "Mom?" fear starting crawling up her throat, and all of the sudden she wanted Francis and her friends in the empty house. "Mama, wake up. Let's get you to bed."

It was then she noticed just how cold, how unnaturally cold her skin was. How pale. They were both pale, all white skin and dark hair-but not like this.

"Mommy?" her mother's hand fell of the coach, carelessly, like a ragdoll.

She called 911 in a blur, choked tears marring her voice as she spit out her address.

"Honey, help is on its way, all right?"

It was not. As she looked at her mom's still form lying on the couch, Mary slipped down the wall to the tile floor, the phone still clutched in her hand, something like panic clutching her chest in its hand and not letting go. It just pressed, and pressed, and crushed-

"Was your mother in any medication? Can you see any pills she might have-"

She dropped the phone. Reality closed in on her. A knot started pulsating on her throat and hot tears made their way down her cheeks. This wasn't happening. Except it was.

Sirens were heard in the distance outside, but they-along with Mary- were a few hours too late.

.

She didn't remember them taking her body away, or the nice EMT that took her upstairs to her bedroom and asked if she had any family to call. She didn't.

She just laid down in bed and cried, the summer wind beating down the tress outside but doing nothing to ease the coldness that had seeped into her bones. Everything was a blur, and the only clear thought she had was that she was alone. She'd never known her father, and now her mother-

She was alone.

She was cold, and she was an orphan now, and she'd never felt so fucking lost. Gripping the sheets in tight fists, she closed her eyes tight as if not seeing would make any of it less real. She didn't even notice when he came in, she just felt the pressure of long, slender fingers prying her stiff ones apart, the familiar scent that she would recognize anywhere, that she'd been immersed on not a couple of hours earlier. She still didn't open her eyes. She felt if she did she would break apart like glass.

"My- My mom," she gasped out, her voice hoarse.

"I know," he said, bringing her closer, but she didn't let him, pushing away from him with open palms.

"I don't-" she sucked in a frantic breath, forcing her mouth to form words even as she felt she couldn't breathe, "I don't have anybody left," she finally met his blue eyes.

"It's okay," he said desperately, trying to embrace her.

"I'm alone!" she cried even harder, fighting off his arms.

"You're not! You have me," he pleaded, "Mary, you have me, I'm right here, and I'm not leaving. You have me, and Kenna and Bash and Greer-"

"I want my mom," she sobbed, pushing him away, ignoring the broken look in his eyes.

"I want my mom!" she beat against him, and he didn't stop her, her fists colliding with his chest. "I want my mom," she repeated, a cry of despair raising from her throat.

He grabbed her fists in his hands then, stopping her attack and pulling her closer, one of his leg stilling her kicking ones.

"Mary-"

"I just want my mom," she said again, quieter this time, like someone giving up.

"I know," he told her pressing a kiss to her hair as he released her hands, which immediately grabbed his shirt, sobs racking her body even as he held her tenderly. "I know, baby, I know."

Later she remembered finding her mother's body, how every bad fight they had and hurtful comment she made had amounted to nothing when she saw her lifelessly lying there. Falling asleep crying in Francis' arms, feeling guilt over taking her anger out of him after she kissed the bruises she caused some nights later.

She felt guilt, later on, that the first thing she thought while shaking her mother's shoulder was that they would take her away instead of that she lost her mother.

The godforsaken authorities didn't give two shits about it when they knew she would turn eighteen in two months. They buried her mother, and everyone moved on with their lives, but a part of Mary would always be that little girl sitting on the cold tile floor, crying for her mother.

.

They agreed they wanted to leave this town when they were six years old.

And now, aged 17 and 18 ("I'm older than you, Francis, show some respect." "Oh, I'll respect you all right.") they could finally, actually, do so.

They looked for colleges together, chose career possibilities and sent letters months in advance. The future was uncertain, but one thing was not.

"Whatever happens, wherever we go; we'll be together."

.

With Aylee gone years before, Mary was the next best student the small high school had, and so it fell on her to give the valedictory at their graduation. Francis was proud of her, and he swore that had her mom been alive, she would have been proud too; so it was down to him to be proud enough for the both of them.

Mary thought, not for the first time, that this blond boy with the enthralling blue eyes had already loved her enough for himself and anyone else.

.

"You know what valedictorian means?" he asked her, as he zipped up her dress, both of their blue graduation gowns lying on his bed, his comically long.

"What?" she asked him, turning around in his arms and threading her fingers at the nape of his neck. He was such a nerd for certain things, a part only she got to see, and there was a smile growing on her face before he even said a word about whatever it meant.

"It's from the latin vale dicere. It means to say farewell," he told her, looking proud of knowing that fact. She thought he was disgustingly cute.

"So we're saying farewell," she sighed, standing up on her toes to reach his lips, "maybe it's time," she whispered as she pressed her mouth to his, the warm sweetness never failing to make her heart ache in the most delicious way possible.

She moaned when he pulled away, protesting.

"I thought it was time to go say farewell and you know, graduate," he laughed, his fingers not loosening their grasp on her waist.

"Maybe the valedictorian gets ten extra minutes."

.

The speech itself was short, a few lines about losses and a few others about new beginnings, nothing particularly ground breaking or specially inspirational, falling on the ears of her few friends and the rest of her classmates who, like her, were too hot in their graduation gowns in the blistering heat of the day and wanted to be done with all of it already.

She said her speech, her voice didn't catch, and no one cried.

But she, she never took her eyes off him.

.

They packed up after graduation, were gone within a week.

A few days after that, an old man who was a permanent fixture at the local supermarket's front door butted in the conversation between Catherine and the cashier, about her son and where he'd gone.

"Doesn't surprise me, that's for sure."

"Oh, shush, you know nothing," the clerk said, shaking her head at his antics and shrugging at Catherine.

"I used to play tag with your grandma, Daisy Mae," he said, as if that gave him some superior power, but the woman in question just rolled her eyes. "And I do remember, 'course I do. That little blond boy and that little girl with the biggest eyes I've seen. Them children running barefoot through town in the summer….

I remember thinking they'd follow each other to the ends of the earth."


	6. Epilogue

_They moved to an apartment in the bustling city of New York, a two bedroom in Brooklyn that they rented with Bash and Kenna, where they had to take the subway to Manhattan and back every day to work and for school. Where the heater didn't always work as well as it should, there was a permanent leak in a corner and they were permanently looking for somewhere new to live. But none of that mattered, because they were here, and together, and life didn't feel like something to be chased or imagined anymore. _

_After Claude's graduation party, a couple of years afterward, they visited the woods again. Kenna had stayed in the city, and Bash was staying in town for a few days more to catch up with his old work friends, but Mary and Francis didn't feel the need to stay any longer than necessary after seeing the kids._

_They were supposed to drive the rented car to the next town over where they would catch their flight back, but they looked at each other immediately after driving by a particular huge tree they'd carved their names on when they were 17, and her smile as she caught his hand said quite clearly: __one last time__._

_They parked by the side of the road, Francis swearing that if the car got stolen and he lost his deposit she would be to blame, and she retorting that if someone dared steal a car in this town then they deserved it._

_The woods were quiet as they walked, Mary pointing at the now dried up swamp from when they were still in kindergarten, and the bent tree he'd fallen from and broken his wrist in the 3__rd__ grade; the whole forest somehow less vivid around them, even sadder than it seemed back then, but the memories as alive as ever._

_When they arrived at the clearing, it was only to find that what used to be their cabin, the place where they had found solace and in each other since they were children-had been knocked down._

_Maybe someone had found the condemned building and deemed it unsafe so they had it bulldozed, perhaps the weather had finally made it crumble (even though it had always seemed stronger and larger than life)-but the truth is that there was nothing left in front of them now but ruins, the bones of the house bare and thin like matchsticks._

_Her fingertips trailed over Francis' hand as she walked past him, to wander through the ruins of their old hiding place. He surveyed the outside of the place, wondering if the big room had always been as small as it seemed now._

_He kicked lazily at a fallen beam, watching Mary as she stared at the old mattress on the corner of the room, that they didn't move or gave away when they left just in case someone else would come upon this place and give it more history. She didn't look sad, instead there was a quiet acceptance hanging in the air, which they both felt._

_She was looking down at something on her hands, rubbing it against the hem of her dress. Tight in her fist, later to be shown to him, was one of the old bullets that they used to play with when they were six, that had somehow withstood more than a decade inside the old, now destroyed cabin; she ran her thumb over the imperfections on the metal, looking at the F and an M carved in childish scrabble._

_She turned to look at him, meeting his eyes and shrugging. He offered his hand to the dark eyed girl in the middle of those woods, standing in the middle of a wreck of memories, like he had always done, and she hurried to hold it, pulling him along so they could start the trek back to the rented car and away from here._

_They walked away for the last time, hand in hand._

_It didn't bother them as they thought it would, to find that refugee gone, after so many years of memories, love and heartache. _

_It was never the house they were running to anyways._


End file.
